


Broken anthem

by EtoKai



Series: Hickies are made from broken skin [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Amputation, Based on a song, Dissociation, Gen, Intrusive Thoughts, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, Pre-Canon, References to Depression, Shiro (Voltron)-centric, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 21:51:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11860350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtoKai/pseuds/EtoKai
Summary: Shiro propped himself on the bed on his hands, blinking at the white appendage that was replacing his right hand as if he could not comprehend it. Some strange alien bandages, perhaps?Shiro screamed when his fingers bent over backwards.





	Broken anthem

**Author's Note:**

> the song i based this chapter on is Anthem for the broken by Missio, the lyrics to which you'll find down bellow ^^ if you wanna check it out, please look at The Bottom Of The Deep Blue Sea as well it's super nice and poetic and aaa!! please just fangirl with me about this song??? ayhdgaiuhd so goood!!<33
> 
> also fuck the sequel i'm too tired for this

Days cloud together, seconds stretching out for eternity while hours fly by with the bat of an eyelash. Life is losing meaning with each passing moment Shiro lays rotting in his cell, waiting to be called out in the ring. He's alone, no one daring to approach him since the day he turned on his friend  and tainted his sword with his blood. His thoughts stir lazily in his head while his body's not in use, laying motionlessly to preserve the energy needed to survive.

Shiro thinks he did the right thing, but seeing the cruelty of the Galra has clouded his convictions. What if instead of saving Matt, he sent him to his death instead? What if he didn't end in the mines, but on a dissection table because of him? What if he was seen as too weak to live and simply killed off? Shiro has no way of knowing, so he finds himself thinking about it in every waking moment.

When the Galra come for him, he's handed the standard weapon and shoved inside the ring where aliens cheer loudly and look at him with leering faces. Shiro has long since learned to ignore them, focusing on the opposing door as he crouches into a battle position. There's only one way of getting out of the arena, and that's by remaining the last one standing. Running is futile in the vast space, so Shiro simply waits.

Something is wrong, but Shiro pushes his feelings aside and clears his mind, knowing they aren't of use inside the ring. The doors part and a figure steps in, its portrait blurred as Shiro surges forward. His opponent flees, and a nagging feeling in the back of his head makes Shiro stop and really take it in, something he'd stopped doing thirty matches or so in.

Shiro's eyes widen as he makes out the humanoid form, the reptile features and the slitted intelligent eyes regarding him with fright- and suddenly it all clicks.

The feeling of wrongness knocks the breath out of him and Shiro kneels over to let bile roll from his stomach over his tongue and onto the ground.

He's the monster. It was the door, the wrong door through which he entered, he was forced to-

The change was immediate as the shifting of their dynamics became apparent, pray instantly switching to predator. Shiro feels talons slicing through muscle an instant before his own sword is buried hilt deep into its stomach, an instant which proves fatale as his arm drops lifelessly on the ground.

Shiro can't hear behind the pulsing in his ears, but he's certain he's screaming. His mouth hangs wide open and body trashes as an unimaginable amount of pain wrecks his body. The space left behind his arm feels like it's on fire, flames licking viciously at his skin. Every nerve in his body pulsates in agony and it isn't long after that Shiro passes out.

He comes in and out of consciousness, and not even the black abyss provides any comfort. He wakes up strapped to a table, and closes his eyes feeling the shadows press down on him and constrict around him like snakes, squeezing even the last drops of life from him.

The first time he kept conscious for more than a few minutes, Haggar visited him. She doted on him like one would to a precious nephew, treasured toy in Haggar's case, providing him with the cleanest water he had since his captivity and showering him- or her creation- in praises.

Shiro didn't understand, and let sleep overtake him once more.

The second time he awoke, he was in his room, or a room to be more specific since there was no way this was his. It could almost be called a bedchamber, with a large bed and an en-suite bathroom, though it lacked any decorations or items someone would find in a regular bedchamber.

The door, of course, was also locked.

Shiro propped himself on the bed on his hands, blinking at the white appendage that was replacing his right hand as if he could not comprehend it. Some strange alien bandages, perhaps?

Shiro screamed when his fingers bent over backwards.

After getting over the initial shock of his missing arm- which never happened- Shiro felt a new feeling in his chest. It took a while to identify it because of how long it had been since he'd last felt it, but his heart beat victoriously in his chest once he did- it was hope.

Shiro wasted no time to attempt his first 'escape' . He already had the guards' switching time engraved in his mind  after months where their talk was his only entertainment source, and it only proved to be a matter of time before he localized his new installment.

He knocked out the four guards that were leading him to the arena easily enough, but all went downhill from then, when he ran into one of the off-duty officials. They played a game of cat and mouse after that, Shiro ultimately getting captured and being dragged to the Emperor.

Shiro went pliant in their harsh grips, too preoccupied taking in his surroundings to properly feel the anxiety churning in his gut. If he remembered correctly, then Shiro could deduce the pods approximate location, so he considered this a win.

Zarkon was an imposing man, but he only laughed in front of Shiro, taking his escape attempt in a stride as he commented on Haggar's weapon, praising him even for the deaths of a dozen or so of his guards.

That day Shiro didn't fight, though he was giving a public lashing then shoved into a healing pod, though Shiro considered it anything but.

His wounds closed in record time, but they still burnt hot under his flesh and Shiro felt them in every twitch of muscle and intake of breath.

After Haggar ran a maintenance check on his arm, Shiro was shoved back into his room where he collapsed in his bed as soon as the guards were gone and slept until he was taken back to the ring.

The circle repeated itself again and Shiro barely hung on to his existence until the next opportunity to escape showed itself.

He was correct about the pods and was this close to making it when the guards pinned him to the ground.

The punishment wasn't so kind this time and Shiro didn't repeat his mistake again. Shiro never felt filthier than he did that night with the blood of thousands of innocents on his hands.

He still dreamed of escape, but that was all he did.

Shiro felt hallow, as if somebody had scooped out his insides with a spoon and stuffed him with plain cotton. He lived as the Champion, spending all his free time in a comatose-like state, barely remembering to eat or drink sometimes.

He came to enjoy the fights, dragging them on just so he wouldn't have to return to his bedchambers. With that came excessive injuries, for which Shiro fought vehemently to keep.

Amused, Haggar indulged him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the anthem for the broken  
> This is the anthem for the weak  
> This is the anthem for you sinners  
> All you dirty and unclean  
> This is the anthem for the...
> 
> Yes, I am a bird  
> I have no wings  
> I have no wings  
> Yes, I am a bird  
> I have no insides


End file.
